Location: Twin Palms, Palm Springs, CA

Aside from agreeing to record with the Muppet (sort of...), I haven't done a whole lot musically since coming back. Hell, like I've had time. To tide you folks over until I commit genus to tape, I have ordered a repackage of some of my earlier material, because, well, that's what you do when you aren't recording or performing. If there's one thing an entertainer can count on, it's you people shelling out money for the same thing over and over again... not that I'm criticizing anyone or anything, but all we gotta' say is that it's been remastered, and you're all out buying all over again.

Anyway, through an agreement with RCA, I've just released "Frank Sinatra, A Voice In Time (1939 - 1952)". Yeah, I'm saving the really good years for later, but RCA doesn't carry that stuff. I'm still in negotiations with the other leaches at Capitol and Reprise for a similar package and even considering re-releasing my old "Greatest Hits" albums. For you freaks who must have everything, there's some alternate takes on this new one, and some of the commercials that I did way back when. So you know, start buying, alright? Christmas is just around the corner. Francis needs a new airplane. You get the drift.

In recognition of someone's brilliance, recognizing my brilliance, there's a gold, "Thanks, Sinatra" lighter going out to a cute little number named Becky Howard over at the Deseret Morning News in Utah. This is the first one I've sent out to a chick (with no strings attached that is). I don't ordinarily agree with or even mention the press, but little Becky hit the nail on the head reviewing my new RCA release. I guess the press ain't all bad, or maybe it's my Mormon following (don't know why that is, could be I've had more wives than most of them, which somehow makes us paisan). You can catch her brilliant write up here. Send her a note of thanks if you get the inclination.

OK, I got an early morning (11:00 AM!) meeting with the architects for the new casino we're building. I haven't selected a firm yet, so it'll kind of be like a casting call without the couch (who sleeps with architects?). It's gonna' be a morning of bad design and even worse ass kissin'. I don't know what I want, but I'll know it when I see it and when I do see it, I'll still send 'em back for revisions. Nothing's more fun that making a perfectionist egghead like an architect sweat.

Ciao,

Location: Sands Casino East, Atlantic City, NJ

Rough day. First Joey, then this. Not that it was a surprise. I knew about The Sands East going down. Hell, Momo and I agreed that it needed to go if we were gonna' build another one in Vegas. I'm even pushin' the button for the detonation. Figured I built the place, why not be the guy who knocks it down, right? That's not to say there isn't a little nostalgia that goes with bringing the joint down. My last shows before I walked were there in the Copa Room.

I was gonna' pick up Sammy, but I couldn't get him on the phone. Apparently, he's gone into mourning over Joe. I left word that he needs to buck up, we don't know if Joey's gone for real or not, and there's no need to start bawling like a girl over it until we know. I didn't even try Dino, he never answers his phone. However, the "Telethon Jew" has been lightin' up my voice mail like a Christmas tree. I need to get that friggin' iPhone up and runnin'

Location: 1147 S. Wenonah Ave. Oak Park, Il.

As you can tell since I've listed my location, my mini-hibernation stint is over. I'm over at Sam's house, gettin' ready to head back to Twin Palms, but I figured I'd fill you in on how the deal went down.

It wasn't an hour after I last posted that Momo sent word my way that the coast was clear and that I was to meet him at his place. I lit out of Shivaji International like a thief on the run. I landed at Chicago's Midway and took a cab out to Sam's neighborhood, getting off a couple of blocks north of his place. I entered his house through the back basement door and there was Sam, cooking sausages in his basement kitchen, the very same one he 'checked out' in.

"Want some sausage & peppers Frank?" he asked, not even looking up from the pan. The guy had eyes in the back of his head.

"Nah, thanks Sam, I could use a drink, though. Long assed flight."

"Suit yourself," Sam said and nodded his head toward the bar area. I went and fixed myself a Jack Daniel's and then sat down at the folding card table he had set up in his basement for use as a dining table.

Sam pulled up a chair at the table and set down his plate of sausages and escarole. He fell on his dinner like a lion that hadn't eaten in a week, while at the same time, filled me in on the score.

"It's done."

I waited for more, but that's all he said. He just kept on eating.

"Wanna' give me a little more to go on Sam?" He just looked up for a moment, chewing on his sausage, then went back to cutting his next bite. I wasn't going to get any more detail on the 'who, what, where and when', so I figured I wouldn't push it."

After a few minutes he said, "A friend of mine is da' new management at Da' Greek. Dey like dat fake act you hired in, don't worry 'bout dem anymore."

"Sam, I owe you one pally. I appreciate it"

"Frank, you owe me more den one and I got work for ya' to do."

I always hated that phrase. Playing with Momo was like playing with napalm, "I'm all ears Sam," I said.

"Relax Frank, you ain't gotta' whack nobody, Jeziz. You gonna' like dis work." He took a few more bites. Sam was taking his time getting it out and it was killing me. Finally he went on, "I got da' Cal Neva in my wallet too. I want you to be da' face. Front it, own it. Just like before."

Apparently Sam wasn't worried about his house being bugged. We never talked this openly in a building before. It makes sense. Everyone still thinks he's dead.

"I wanna' build a new one too Frank. One in Vegas. You design it, build it, whatever the fuck, just get it up and running. I'll send you da' crew and shit. Don't worry 'bout da cost, just get what you need through dem, but don't hire nobody either."

"Sam I gotta' hire an architect, interior designers, you know, guys you don't have."

"Yeah, ok, you handle that. Have 'em bill you personally. Dat'll be your investment. Once you get what you need from dem, my guys take over buildin' it though. Also, we'll take care of da' employees 'n shit once its done. You be da' face on dat one too. We'll take care of da' accountin' 'n management."

"I'm gonna' need some time, Sam. Especially if I'm running the Cal Nev too. Plus there's a little thing called tellin' the world that I'm back among them, you know?"

"Get it goin' fast as ya' can Frank. Faster. We gotta' get it up and runnin'. There's shit you don't know about, but we're comin' back in a big way. No more linen napkin joints and pinball machines. We gonna' make da' sixties look like peanuts." He looked up still chewing and said, "You wid me Frank?"

What was I gonna' do? Tell him no? Risk being whacked by a guy who technically didn't exist? Hell, technically I wouldn't be missed either, you know? Plus I can't deny it. Getting my hands on the casinos again played right into my dreams baby. So I shook the devil's hand and said, "You bet Sam, all the way."

Location: Another Undisclosed (Still foreign, still warm and sunny)

It's nice here. Can't say where of course, but trust me, its almost got it all, including some dynamite sunrises like this one. No word out of Momo yet and I'm gettin' itchy.

Don't get me wrong, I like this place, hell I've even sung about it once, but it ain't the good old U.S. of A. I got none of my pallies around. The women here aren't quite my cup of whiskey and the accent the people have here is a little irritating, but hey, I'm off again in the morning to another 'undisclosed' location... that is if I haven't got word from Sammy G. by then.

Something he said when I saw him got me thinkin' last night. He said, "By this time next month Frank, I'm gonna' be listenin' to you sing 'Chicago' in my new casino. Ya' gonna' have a piece of it too, just like before. It's gonna' be better then ever and no one will be able to touch us, ever." This is got my wheels spinnin' baby.

Casinos, like broads are my addiction. I love bein' in them, singin' in them and more importantly, owning them. You can't beat the high, it's literally better than knowing a president (and I outta' know, I've known a few), so the idea of owning part of a casino again has got the old grey matter pulsing with new ideas. I hope Sam wasn't just blowin' smoke up my shorts.

Well, I've got a good supply of Jack on hand, enough smokes to take me to next Wednesday, but only enough patience to get me through to Saturday. If I don't hear anything by tomorrow, I may just stir up the dust myself. George, wherever you are... you'da' loved it here pal.